


day late friend

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Series: clexa low-key in love with your best friend au [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't think about it, not really; after all, Lexa has always had this bad habit of being low-key in love with all the nice people in her life, few and far in between as they are. Certainly, Clarke wouldn't be an exception -- Clarke, who has been there since forever. What's not to be low-key in love with? </p><p>Lexa is low-key in love with her best friend. Of course, it’s a disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	day late friend

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Anberlin.

 

 

She doesn't think about it, not really; after all, Lexa has always had this bad habit of being low-key in love with all the nice people in her life, few and far in between as they are. Certainly, Clarke wouldn't be an exception -- Clarke, who has been there since _forever._ What's not to be low-key in love with? Clarke's a great listener, an okay singer, and a passable cook. She lets herself be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for a philosophical conversation about what it means to be _present_ and she doesn't mind hanging out with Lexa on weekends even when she clearly has better things to do, other than be ignored by Lexa for most of the afternoon.

It's easy -- Clarke's _easy --_ and so unlike their other friends, who practically disappeared when their respective boyfriends came along. Not Clarke -- but then again, she and Finn have been joined at the hip for forever and _a half_ , and Finn doesn't mind that Clarke has _friends._ Who text at godawful hours and host a ridiculous amount of sleepovers and weekend stay-ins and all-girl movie nights.

Finn doesn't mind that Clarke has _Lexa._ Some days Lexa wonders if one day, he should.

*

Clarke is fifteen when they first meet. Her bike had broken down while biking around the neighborhood, and Lexa happened to pass by. It’s a greasy affair, and Clarke offers to let Lexa clean up in their garage, where Clarke hoses the dirt from Lexa’s legs. Lexa remembers that day quite clearly – after all, it’s not every day that a pretty girl moves into the neighborhood and hoses her legs down before sunset.

Lexa thinks there are worse ways to make new friends.

*

Clarke likes biking during weekends, and Lexa soon finds herself tagging along on Saturday afternoons. Lexa lives further down the street, so she usually bikes up to Clarke’s and waits for her to come out. Lexa likes being early; moreover, she likes watching Clarke as she readies her bike and puts her helmet on. She thinks it’s rather cute, though she’ll never admit it to Clarke’s face.

Their weekend route starts off on the concrete Griffin lawn and winds through an unpaved path through the forest just beyond the last house on their street. Lexa likes it better when the sun is out – it’s easier to ride through a dusty path than a muddy one. She remembers the first time she joined Clarke on this ride – Clarke had been so secretive about their destination, it made Lexa’s palms sweat, her hand slipping occasionally while gripping the handlebars. Despite living in the area for longer, Lexa never really thought to stray this far – no point in doing it alone, actually.

But now, Clarke is here and suddenly, getting lost is somewhat quite worth it.

That first time, Clarke skids to a stop with a small laugh and Lexa tries to brake a little more softly. Her legs are itchy with the dirt caked around the hem of her socks, but when she sees what Clarke is staring at, Lexa feels her jaw drop slightly.

This is how Lexa first meets the lake – with her mouth slightly parted and a soft drizzle threatening overhead. Clarke laughs louder this time, dropping her bike to the ground before scampering toward the shore.

“What—where are you going, Clarke?”

Clarke stops for a bit to look back at her over her shoulder, face filled with disbelief. “The lake won’t come to you, Lexa!” she just says back, running on.

It rains that afternoon, and they spend the entire ride back home in their wet, dripping clothes.

*

Lexa starts looking forward to the weekends. The first few weeks, she only goes on Saturdays, but after a while, Clarke is able to convince her to ride with her on Sundays as well. It’s exhausting but it’s worth it; Lexa brings a change of clothes, while Clarke brings her mat and her art materials.

Clarke loves painting in the forest, sitting on the shore as Lexa stayed in the water, treading until her calves hurt; she doesn’t want to cramp Clarke’s style and space, so she keeps her distance until Clarke calls on her to look at her latest piece. She gets better week after week, Lexa always says, though Clarke always dismisses it as Lexa simply being kind.

“Seriously, Clarke,” says Lexa. “I saw last week’s painting, and that was already amazing. This one though.”

Clarke covers her face with her hands, but her cheeks are pink with blush. Lexa pokes her side with the blunt end of an abandoned paintbrush. “ _Lexa,_ ” she groans, though a half-giggle makes it out anyhow. “Be honest with me, for once.”

“I _am_.”

This conversation never really ends, and Clarke never really accepts Lexa’s compliments, so Lexa just insists on keeping every piece that Clarke wants to throw away.

By the end of the month, Lexa’s room is already filled with various portraits of the same lake, and she doesn’t quite know what to make of them.

*

When it rains, Lexa complains about the mud, so Clarke just bikes to Lexa’s and they hang out in the living room, watching repetitive television and eating day-old pizza. Lexa’s parents are often out on weekends, so Clarke’s presence is always welcome; at least, Lexa isn’t alone, especially in the downpour.

“Summer’s ending,” says Clarke, looking out the window. She’s sitting on the couch with her legs lazily thrown on Lexa’s lap. “What are your plans?”

“I think this question is backwards,” says Lexa, thumb lightly grazing Clarke’s ankle. “You’re supposed to have plans _for_ the summer. Not _after_ it.”

“Why not?”

Lexa shrugs. “It just _is_.”

“Can we still bike on weekends?”

Lexa looks at her like she’s just suggested they both shave their heads before school starts. “We’ll have _homework_ on weekends when school starts, Clarke.”

Clarke makes a face before letting her head fall back onto the couch. She knows Lexa is right. “Maybe Sunday afternoon? Just a quick ride?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance and Lexa finds herself scooting closer to Clarke, hand still around Clarke’s ankle. When she looks out, she sees the rain as it comes down in white opaque sheets, the water rapping against the glass steadily.

“Maybe,” Lexa just says, keeping her eyes on the window.

*

 _If it’s not a promise, then I’m not breaking anything,_ Lexa just thinks.

*

She doesn’t bike with Clarke for months, but every now and then, they drop by each other’s houses with snacks and homework. Lexa remembers the first time she actually enters the Griffin household, marveling at how utterly different it is from her own – like everything’s warm and more rounded in the corners.

Clarke likes doing her homework in their dining room, books open on the table. Lexa takes the far corner and tries her best not to be distracted by the way Clarke chews on the end of her pen as she thinks.

Lexa figures it out really early on, but she tries not to think too much about it: Clarke’s this lovely thing, and maybe there are worse ways to feel about your best friend.

*

By the time the following summer rolls around, Lexa sees Clarke riding with Finn. He’s an old friend of Clarke’s, from her old neighborhood; Lexa remembers every single time Clarke tells her about him, but only because of the way his name feels like a really blunt instrument digging into Lexa’s ribs.

How is it possible for someone to know Clarke _better –_ for Clarke to have had a life before this? The question sits uncomfortably in Lexa’s gut.

How is that possible, when Lexa’s life _actually_ began that afternoon she found Clarke with her broken bike?

(As with everything, Lexa tries not to think about it; not too much.)

*

That summer, their weekend rides become a threesome.

Eventually, Lexa does not mind.

Instead, she learns just when to look away whenever Clarke starts getting this all too fond look when she looks at Finn and whenever Finn starts murmuring low at Clarke. These moments are private, Lexa knows, and in those moments she is glad the shore is wide, or that the lake is there.

Clarke doesn’t even paint anymore; she pays attention to Finn instead. Lexa tries not to think about Clarke’s pieces in her bedroom from last summer.

Later, as she walks Lexa to her door, Clarke says softly, “Finn’s only visiting for the summer.”

Lexa looks at her, confused. “You don’t have to explain anything,” she just says, closing the door after her gently.

*

She stops biking with Clarke and Finn altogether; she thinks it’s for the best. She thinks about how there is nothing _low-key_ about the way Clarke and Finn feel about each other, so there’s that. Lexa knows this for a fact: Clarke deserves more than just the muted feeling in Lexa’s chest.

Lexa spends her weekends putting together wooden frames for Clarke’s paintings instead.

*

When it starts raining toward the end of that summer, Clarke shows up at her door with Combos and ice cream. Lexa lets her in with a smile and a lump in her throat.

“Hi,” says Lexa, shuffling into the living room, barefoot. She looks around and regrets the mess of the house; had she known Clarke was coming, she would have at least cleaned up. “I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

Clarke walks into their kitchen with familiar ease, putting the ice cream into the freezer. “You’ve been busy,” she says. “Finn’s been asking about you.”

“What? About the girl who used to third wheel on you during your biking dates?” asks Lexa lightly, trying to lace the bitter comment with a laugh. “Come on Clarke.”

“Come on _Lex_ ,” Clarke says, tugging Lexa back to the couch. “Finn knows you’re my best friend.” The term lodges in Lexa’s chest – she doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. “He’s leaving in a couple of days. We’re having a bit of a goodbye party.”

“A party,” Lexa repeats, narrowing her eyes at Clarke as she plops down on the couch, legs on Lexa’s lap again, easy and familiar.

“The lake. You and me. And, well – Finn would be there,” Clarke says with a smile. And then, off the solemn look on Lexa’s face: “Hey. I miss you, okay.”

Lexa sighs. Clarke’s legs on her lap feel heavy like lead. “You’re only here because it’s raining,” she says. She doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does – bitter and pained. Lexa looks away and hopes Clarke doesn’t notice.

“I’m here because _you’re_ here,” Clarke says. “Where’s your bike?”

“It’s broken,” Lexa says.

Clarke sees right through the lie. “You _fixed_ my bike. Why can’t you fix yours?”

Lexa shrugs. “Maybe I can’t,” she says. _Or maybe I won’t._

“Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

Clarke looks at her for a moment, before carefully lifting her legs off Lexa’s lap and gathering her knees to her chest. It stings, but Lexa breathes in and says nothing further. “You don’t like Finn.”

“Do I have to?” asks Lexa, and Clarke visibly pales, like Lexa had just slapped her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m sorry I spent all summer hanging out with my boyfriend who’s only here on vacation—”

 _What?_ Lexa shuts the rest of the words out, and lets _boyfriend_ ring in her head loudly, like a siren blaring. Lexa closes her eyes and sinks into the couch further.

“ _Lexa_.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says, after a while. She feels so _shrunk_ and _small,_ and she wonders how Clarke still sees her right now. “As I’ve said, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Come out to the lake with us,” Clarke says. She reaches over to wrap a hand around Lexa’s arm; Clarke’s hand is still soft, like rainwater. It’s exactly as Lexa remembers. “Please.”

Lexa does not say anything more that afternoon, and Clarke lets her be, staying on the sofa eating her Combos, silently offering Lexa in between. Lexa accepts – it’s just _Combos –_ and when they’re done, Clarke goes back into the kitchen and starts with the ice cream. Lexa does not even have to help – Clarke knows her way around Lexa’s kitchen, and she comes back quietly with two half-filled mugs. They eat in silence with their legs tucked under them, sitting on the opposite sides of the couch.

Lexa tries not to fall in love, just a little bit harder. (Of course, it’s never enough.)

*

Lexa comes out to the lake and Finn smiles at her in greeting, hands shoved into his pockets. “Clarke would be glad,” he tells her, and Lexa tries a soft tentative smile herself in response.

The skies are overcast on the day Clarke decides to have Finn’s going-away party, and Lexa looks up nervously, thinking about rain. She leaves her bike steady against a tree before sliding down toward the lakeshore, and there Clarke is, fussing with cake and a bottle of wine.

“Can I help?”

Clarke lets out an excited squeal, pushing herself off the mat and flinging herself into Lexa’s arms, and Lexa receives her with a loud, surprised laugh. “You’re here!” Clarke says, hands on Lexa’s shoulder.

“You said there would be food.”

“And there _is,_ ” Clarke says, motioning to the food spread. “I mean. Cake is food, right.”

“Right.” Lexa rolls her eyes but there’s a smile on her lips. Behind her, she can hear Finn walking up to them, leaves crunching under his boots.

“Over here,” says Finn, and when Clarke tugs Lexa around, Finn brandishes the thing in his hand. “One for Clarke’s books,” he says, clicking once on his Polaroid.

Clarke presses her cheek against Lexa’s, pulling her in by her shoulder. Like this, Lexa can feel the smile stretching Clarke’s face, and Finn laughs as the small flash goes off and the print slides out. Clarke snatches it with two fingers, and Lexa watches her as she shakes it out, staring as their faces slowly form on the surface.

“One more?” Finn asks, and this time, Lexa initiates the hug herself.

*

It rains on the way back. Lexa tucks their photo further into her bra to keep it dry.

*

Finn takes the last bus out and Clarke spends the night at Lexa’s, staring at her room’s ceiling. Lexa lies on her side, mindful of the small space between them, staring at Clarke’s face.

“I think I did something I shouldn’t have,” Clarke says, after a long silence. Lexa’s stomach fills with _stones_ , just listening to the rasp of Clarke’s voice; the way it breaks toward the end.

“What is it?”

Clarke sighs, turning to her side to face Lexa. Like this, she’s so close, and Lexa actually flinches. Her breath is warm on Lexa’s face and Lexa has to bite down on her tongue to keep from leaning in; from leaning _closer_.

“I slept with Finn.”

Lexa screws her eyes shut at the words. _Of course. You knew this was coming._ Lexa tells herself to keep breathing. “And?”

“And he’s my boyfriend. So this was supposed to happen, right?”

 _Right._ “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask.”

“You’re my best friend. I’m pretty sure you’re _always_ the right person to ask.”

“Not this time,” Lexa just says. Clarke opens her mouth as if to say something else, only to close it again, hesitating. They spend the rest of the night like that, staring at each other wordlessly; their lips half-parted in the dark.

*

Clarke figures it out eventually: Lexa doesn’t like hearing about Finn. Summer ends and Clarke still comes by with snacks and homework, but eventually, Lexa notes that Clarke has stopped updating her about Finn entirely.

Lexa is thankful. And maybe – just _maybe --_ a little more smitten than before. (But mostly thankful.)

*

When Lexa meets Costia, it’s already their second week in university. Costia fills in for the professor’s sick TA and the first thing that Lexa notes about her is her hair. (She tries not to see Clarke in her smile; _don’t we always fall for semblances._ )

Lexa makes it a point to submit her paper last so she could linger. Costia takes it with a smile, and reads out her name, written across the top of the page.

Her first words to her are: “Hello, Lexa.” And then: “See you next meeting.”

Lexa smiles harder than she’s supposed to, and Costia laughs before turning away. Lexa tries not to think about the blush she thinks she saw.

*

Costia is not Clarke. If anything, she is more like Lexa than anything else: Reserved and awkward. In class though, she is different: She is stern and outspoken, always ready to shut smartasses down, but Lexa knows, at the end of the day, much of that effort takes its toll on her.

“It’s like a muscle, and it feels like I’m _flexing_ ,” she tells Lexa once, over coffee. They bump into each other a lot, and Lexa makes it a point to offer coffee with the conversation. Perhaps none of it is an accident, not technically, though Lexa will never admit following Costia around whenever she spots her on campus, because that is just _creepy,_ but well.

Lexa tries. _Nothing wrong with trying to be nice._ The first time, Lexa walks up to her from across the corridor and just flat out _asks._ Maybe it was the cold, but apart from that, Lexa doesn’t know why exactly Costia says yes to coffee with a freshman who later asks for her number, but then again, perhaps there are always worse ways to meet new friends.

“Is that how it’s going to be then?” Lexa asks carefully. “A lifetime of _flexing?_ ”

Costia tilts her head, coffee hovering before her lips; Lexa tries not to stare as Costia purses them as she thinks about what to say next. _Christ._ Lexa sips from her coffee to drown out her own thoughts.

“Is that a bad thing?” asks Costia.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you feel yourself flexing a lot?”

“Not when I’m with you.” It’s out so quickly that Lexa barely has time to register that she has even spoken, and Costia’s eyes widen slightly with a pleased surprise that makes Lexa’s breath hitch in her throat.

Costia recovers, after a while, lowering her cup and leaning in. “Well,” she says, breathing out. Lexa keeps herself very, very still. “I’m glad the feeling goes both ways, then.”

When Lexa lets go of the breath she’d been holding all along, her chest feels like it’s about to give out. Something changes that day, she knows, but it isn’t until that term ends when Costia finally comes up to her and asks her _asks her_ out. “To a proper dinner,” Costia explains. “We could still get coffee, afterwards.”

And they do, that morning after, after crawling into Costia’s bed.

“You are what mornings are made for,” Lexa just says.

*

Lexa does not go home for term break and Clarke has to call at odd hours, just to get hold of her.

“Clarke, it’s three in the morning.”

“It’s term break, Lexa. Where are you?”

Lexa rubs at her eyes and tries to slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Costia. _In my girlfriend’s apartment, where else?_ she almost says, but she’s been putting this call off and she’s not entirely sure this is how Clarke wants their first proper conversation _in a long time_ to go.

“Sleeping in the dorms on campus,” says Lexa, closing the bedroom door behind her softly. The rest of Costia’s apartment is dark, but she’s learned how to navigate it seamlessly without having to hit the lights. “You?”

“I’m at _home._ Like, home _home._ I was hoping you’d be home, too.”

“Clarke.”

“ _Lex._ Come on. Are you telling me you’re staying there for the break?” Lexa groans. She hadn’t considered that Clarke would actually go home herself. “ _Lexa._ ”

“Term break’s, like, only a couple of weeks. Why did you even—”

“Well, because I was _hoping_ to hang out with my best friend who has been unavailable for the past handful of weeks,” says Clarke, and Lexa feels the guilt blooming in her chest. “And, as it turns out, will continue to be unavailable for the _next_ handful of weeks.”

“Clarke.” Lexa pours herself a glass of water and starts massaging at her temple. _It’s too early for this conversation._ “Listen. I met someone and we’re spending term break together, okay?”

The quiet that follows is tense; at least, for Lexa, it is. She listens to Clarke breathing on the other end until the silence becomes unbearable.

“Still there?”

Clarke clears her throat. “Oh,” she ends up saying. “Sorry, Lex. I mean – I didn’t know. I—you should have told me. When did this happen?” Clarke lifts her tone toward the end, and Lexa feels her gut turn at the effort it seems to have taken.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” says Lexa. “It’s all quite new.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe we can talk about her some other time.” Lexa just lets it drop like that, hoping Clarke manages to catch it and doesn’t ask further – at least for now. Lexa looks at the clock hanging over the fridge: 3:24 a.m.

“Right.” Clarke swallows audibly from her end and Lexa bites down on her lip at the sound she makes. “Can I—when can I call again?”

Lexa almost says, _Whenever you want,_ but then again she knows this is no longer true. “I’ll call you,” she says instead. “Tell you all about her.”

Clarke lets out a small laugh. Lexa tries not to imagine her in her room, huddled under the sheets, phone to her ear in the dark. _My favorite Clarke,_ she thinks briefly before shoving the thought out.

“Tell me all about her,” Clarke just repeats, and Lexa just thinks about how the last word rolls off Clarke’s tongue. _She gets it._

“Good night, Clarke.”

“Good night.”

*

Clarke doesn’t call again, and neither does she.

Lexa spends the rest of term break learning all there is to know about Costia instead.

*

Clarke’s next phone call comes in the middle of a Halloween party Costia’s sorority is hosting, and Lexa accidentally answers her cell while still in the thick of the thing.

“Hello?”

“Clarke, wait a sec,” she says, weaving through the crowd, beer in hand. She looks around for Costia and finds her eye across the room; she gestures to her phone and Costia smiles at her, blowing her a kiss. Lexa sticks her tongue out at her and mouths _Later_ before heading out the door.

“Hello? Lexa?”

“Hey.” With the door closed behind her, the party quiets down and Lexa is suddenly hyper-aware of Clarke’s voice in her ear. How long has it been since she last heard it? Lexa tries to shake that last phone call out of her head; that time, she’d promised to call Clarke and _tell her._ Why hadn’t she, anyway? She could always say: _Term break had been busy._ She could always say: _Things had a way of getting in the way._

She could always say: _I want Costia to be something that was only mine._

Lexa feels horrible the moment the sentiment solidifies in her brain. She’d been thinking about that for a while – about her reluctance to share Costia with Clarke, the one person with whom she shared _everything,_ once. _The one person who also shared everything with me._ Lexa remembers Finn, that familiar bitter taste threatening at the back of her throat all over again, and when she closes her eyes, she sees the lake. _Our lake of summers past._

“Hey,” says Clarke, her voice but a drawn-out sigh. Lexa drains her cup at that, trying to brush off that note of heavy _longing_ that she hears in such a small word. “Where are you?”

“At a party,” says Lexa, looking into her now-empty cup. “At Costia’s. It’s Halloween.”

Clarke lets out a little laugh. “Of course,” she says. “What are you coming as?”

“Excuse me?”

“I meant, is it a costume kind of party, or—”

“Oh,” Lexa says, laughing herself. “Sorry. I—I’m not in a costume. I guess it’s not really that sort of a party.”

“A boring one then.” Clarke slips from tense to _teasing,_ just like that, and Lexa feels something shift inside her chest. “What would you have come as, if required?”

“I _wouldn’t_ have come in the first place, had a costume been required.”

“Even if _Costia_ insisted?”

“I—” Lexa trails off. Costia wouldn’t have insisted on anything, but if she had, Lexa would have come as _anything._ “Costia’s not _that_ into Halloween,” she says instead.

“I would have wanted you to go as some sort of furry animal,” says Clarke in a mock-serious tone. “Maybe a raccoon. Eye makeup, the works.”

“I _wouldn’t,_ ” Lexa says, though the image of Clarke applying her eye makeup for her sticks in her mind, and it isn’t exactly an unpleasant thought. “And you would have come as?”

“Maybe a sci-fi post-apocalyptic heroine,” says Clarke. “Tattered leather jackets and a long firearm. The works.”

“And _I_ have to go as a raccoon,” Lexa says drily. “This is unfair.”

Clarke laughs. “I miss your grumpy face,” she says. It’s out so _easily_ and it takes the breath out of Lexa’s lungs. Clarke drops her voice to a whisper. “You never called.”

Lexa bites the inside of her cheek, hard. “Things just… sort of got in the way, I guess,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you even—” Clarke inhales, cutting herself off mid-way, like she’s thinking of better ways to put her next question. “Where are you spending New Year’s?”

 _Jackpot._ Lexa almost laughs out loud at how _accurately_ she predicts Clarke’s next question, but still, she is thrown. She and Costia talked about visiting family over the holidays, actually – both hers and Costia’s – and she isn’t sure if she’s ready to tell Clarke about it, despite the fact that the plans are good as final.

“We’re still thinking about it,” Lexa says instead. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

Clarke is quiet for a bit, and Lexa’s chest fills with words, words, words.

“Okay,” Clarke says after a while. “I should probably let you get back to that party.”

“Clarke.”

“ _Go,_ ” Clarke says. “Have fun tonight.” There’s that cheery tone again that Lexa recognizes as Clarke trying, and it tears at Lexa inexplicably.

“Good night, Clarke.”

“Good night.”

It is only after she hangs up the phone that Lexa realizes she didn’t even ask Clarke how she was, or how she and Finn had been, at the very least. _The safest question,_ Lexa tells herself, crushing the cup in her hand.

“Hey Lex.”

“Yeah?” Lexa looks over her shoulder to find Costia by the door.

“You coming back in?”

Lexa pockets her phone and tosses her crushed cup aside before turning around, wiping her hand against her jeans. Costia simply tilts her head and looks at her amusedly.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry, was I out long?”

“Not really,” says Costia, smiling. “Who was that?”

Lexa shrugs, shoving her hands into her pockets. “An old friend just checking in,” she just says.

“Oooh,” Costia says, tugging Lexa back into the party, hand warm around her wrist. “Will we see them when we visit?”

Lexa tries to ignore the knots in her stomach. “Of course,” she says instead, distracted. “Whatever we want, right?”

*

Clarke suggests a backyard poolside cookout, instead of a trip to the lake; after all, the Griffins had already built a pool, and it would be a waste not to use it. For the most part, Lexa is thankful she does not have to take her bike out; she’s not even sure it’s still in good shape.

Costia picks up some wine and brings the salad. Lexa watches her fidget at the door before knocking, so she reaches out to take Costia’s hand, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. “You’ll be fine,” says Lexa, though she wonders if she’s also saying that to herself.

“What if they don’t like me?”

It’s the first time that Lexa hears Costia like this – nervous and jittery and _insecure._ “They’d _love_ you,” says Lexa, rubbing at Costia’s arm before pulling her in. “Besides – it’s just Clarke and her boyfriend. They’re practically _family_.”

Costia pauses to breathe in. “Okay.” She closes her eyes as Lexa raps at the door once, and this time, it’s Lexa’s turn to inhale deeply, listening in for the familiar footsteps that rush toward the door. Lexa feels Costia’s grip around her hand tightening.

Clarke opens the door with a squeal and a laugh. “You’re here!” she says, throwing her arms haphazardly around Lexa. She’s wearing an apron and Lexa notes a small stain on her cheek, possibly from barbecue sauce. She takes a moment too long to stare at Lexa before turning to the woman beside her. “You must be Costia.”

“Hello, Clarke,” says Costia, grinning as she exhales.

“I have heard so much about you,” Clarke says, glancing at Lexa briefly before reaching for Costia’s hands. “Let me take these. Come on in. Finn’s just getting started.”

Clarke leads Costia by the hand into the kitchen, and Lexa lets herself hang back, looking around. The Griffin house has changed a lot since she was last here – lots of now empty spaces on the walls, for instance, which remind Lexa of Clarke’s paintings of the lake, still kept inside her drawers all these years.

“Hey, Lexa.” When she looks up, she sees Finn coming out of the kitchen, handing her an open bottle of beer. “Glad you’re finally here.”

Lexa smiles, taking the bottle. “Likewise,” she says, taking a tentative sip. “You met Costia?”

Finn nods. “Clarke’s with her washing the greens,” he says. “I think Clarke’s a bit jealous.”

“ _Finn._ ” They’re not really close, but she knows he won’t lie about these things – if there’s something they share, it’s an uncanny ability to connect with Clarke, despite her occasional walls. “Please don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” says Finn, in a serious tone that is completely alien to Lexa. “If I didn’t know better, it really looked like you broke her heart when you didn’t come home during term break.”

Lexa takes a long swig from her beer bottle before shaking her head and going into the kitchen. _What is Finn even talking about?_ She pauses by the doorway to watch the scene unfolding before her: Clarke and Costia talking side-by-side, their shoulders touching. At some point, Clarke laughs at something Costia says, her hand in the air, gesturing. The sight seizes Lexa’s chest.

“At least they’re getting along,” says Finn, quietly settling beside her. “Our favorite girls.”

Lexa watches as Costia laughs this time, as Clarke steals a grape from Costia’s pile. Lexa feels her heart lodge in her throat. _What is this place?_ she asks herself, looking at the way Clarke seems to relax around Costia so instantly.

“You all right there?”

Lexa swallows. “I think,” she begins, licking at her lips. “I think I need more to drink.”

*

Finn offers to do the dishes and Costia stands to join him, leaving Lexa at the table with Clarke.

“You two should catch up,” Costia says, planting a kiss on Lexa’s cheek before moving toward Clarke and touching her shoulder briefly. “Thanks for dinner, Clarke.”

Clarke looks up and just smiles at her. Lexa listens to the sound of the door closing after Costia before breathing out.

“She’s lovely,” Clarke ventures first, refilling her glass of wine before tipping the bottle over Lexa’s. “I’m glad we finally met.”

Lexa looks up at the sky. Night is falling and out here, beside the Griffins’ pool, Lexa can think of worse places to be. She blinks twice and waits for the stars to come out, one by one. “I’m sorry it took so long,” she says finally. And then: “I’m sorry about term break.”

Clarke is quiet for a while, like she’s thinking of how to respond. Lexa stares hard into her wine glass; anywhere but Clarke. Truth be told, the whole afternoon has been an exercise in finding neutral places to rest her eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” Clarke says. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Lexa breathes out, allowing herself to be relieved, however slight. “Thanks.” And then, softer: “Nice work on the renovations.”

“I guess Dad wanted me to stop going to the lake,” says Clarke, and for the first time that night, Lexa allows herself to _look_ at Clarke the way she has avoided all this time – soft and clear-eyed, and for a split-second there Lexa thinks she sees Clarke with one knee on the ground, tinkering with her bike helplessly.

It makes her laugh, a little.

“What’s funny?” asks Clarke.

Lexa shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “I just remember the first time we met. Your bike was broken.”

“It was,” Clarke says, nodding and laughing lightly herself. “I would have invited you and Costia to the lake, but I wasn’t sure you were up for a bike ride.”

“I’m not even sure if my bike still works,” says Lexa. “Besides, I don’t have an extra, and I don’t think that old bike can carry both Costia and I.”

“We would have looked cute trying.”

“We would have looked like ridiculous overgrown teenagers about to have an accident,” says Lexa, smiling more easily now. “More wine?”

Clarke takes the bottle and pours Lexa another. “We should see the lake sometime before you leave.”

Lexa feels the blood freeze in her veins. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“We could borrow Finn’s bike,” Clarke adds. “It would be quick. I’ll talk to Costia, we’ll be back after an hour.”

“Clarke.”

“Come on, Lex.” The slight whimper that lines Clarke’s plea puts that familiar unease again in Lexa’s gut – something she’s tried to _unlearn_ all these years. “ _Lexa_.”

Lexa drinks up and doesn’t answer, and Clarke smiles as she pushes away from the table. “Where are you going?” she asks, panic seeping slightly through her wine-soaked brain.

“Inside,” says Clarke. “Where _Costia_ is with Finn.”

“ _Clarke._ ”

“Come on – are you telling me you’ve forgotten how to ride a bike?”

Lexa blinks. _Like I’d ever forget a thing like that._ She tries not to think about the other things she can’t: That lake, Clarke’s paintings, and the look on Clarke’s face when it starts to rain.

*

“This is a horrible idea,” Lexa calls out to Clarke, but it’s mostly a lie – Lexa loves it. The moon is out tonight, and it helps illuminate the path from the Griffins’ house to the lake. They navigate it by memory, mostly; Lexa marvels at how unchanged it all seems, at how the curves and dips are exactly where they were years ago, and it all feels like they’re only picking up where they left off.

Clarke cycles faster, squealing into the quiet night as soon as they get past the last house. “Lexa, come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “What’s taking you so long?”

Lexa growls; Finn’s bike takes some getting used to. “This is _not_ my bike, I am not about to break it,” she says, and Clarke just laughs back, the rasp at the end of it hitting Lexa in the chest like a hard, cold gust of wind.

 _Fuck,_ Lexa thinks, pedaling harder. _How am I still feeling this?_ She forces herself to blink as she takes the last sharp curve that leads to the lake, slowing down as they negotiate the rough slope toward the shore in the dark.

The lake is magnificent in the moonlight, and Lexa takes a moment to take it in. Clarke sets her bike aside not too far away from where Lexa’s rooted in place, unmoving. The lakeshore is quiet, save for the small sounds of the forest around it, and Lexa swears she can hear Clarke’s breath catch in her throat.

“I told you,” Clarke says, leaves rustling underfoot as she starts walking toward the water. “This was going to be worth it.”

Lexa tries not to think: _It’s always worth it._

Lexa tries not to think: _You always are._

*

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”

Lexa turns her head at that, confused. They’re sitting on the shore, mostly in quiet until Clarke chooses to break the silence with _that_. “What?”

“Costia. Did you not think I would get it? The whole being in love with a girl thing,” says Clarke. Her voice is so small and _broken_ and _Jesus,_ Lexa doesn’t know what to do with it. She chews on her lip, uncertain of what to say. “Was that why you never called?”

Lexa lets out a shaky breath. _Christ. Are we really having this conversation right now?_ “It’s more complicated than that,” she just says.

“So you _did_ think I wouldn’t understand.”

“Clarke.”

“I don’t mean to come at you like this,” she says. The defeat in her voice is strange and unnerving, and Lexa simply hugs her knees closer to her chest. “But I want to understand, okay? And this is—university has been _lonely,_ and god, do you know how much I had looked forward to term break?”

“I—”

“No, listen, I don’t mean—I’m sorry, everything’s coming out wrong. I wonder how Finn manages to put up with all this--”

“Finn puts up with _nothing_ ,” says Lexa, hand shooting out to grip at Clarke’s forearm, like she’s saying _How can you even think this?_

_You are lovely. Don’t you see what I see?_

Lexa feels her grip soften, the feeling in her chest abating. “Listen,” Lexa begins. “I’m sorry, okay. Let’s do better at this… _us_ _thing._ Okay?”

Clarke sniffs and says nothing for a moment, until: “This _us thing._ ” And then: “Okay.”

Lexa breathes in as Clarke scoots closer and rests her head on Lexa’s shoulder. _Clearly,_ Lexa thinks, letting Clarke settle more comfortably against her. _There are worse ways to be._

*

On the day she and Costia leave to return to university, Lexa drops by the Griffins with a going away present.

“These are long overdue,” she says immediately as Clarke opens the door with a yawn, still clearly disheveled from sleep. Lexa looks away, trying not to blush at how _open_ this Clarke looks.

“ _What_ are long overdue?” Clarke asks, opening her door wider. “You, on the other hand, are just in time. Finn’s just about finished with the pancakes.” And then, turning momentarily to call out to the general direction of the kitchen, “Hey babe, Lexa’s here.”

There’s a muffled “Hi Lexa” that comes from the inside, mixed with the sound of utensils and pans sizzling. “I think some of this is edible.”

Clarke laughs, leaning against the door, looking so hopeful. “You better not leave me alone to finish all of Finn’s borderline edible cooking.”

“Actually,” Lexa breathes in, looking over her shoulder to look at her bike in the driveway. “I have to get back to Costia. We’re leaving in a few.”

Clarke’s face falls slightly, but she recovers with a pout, reaching over to finally get the giftwrapped thing that she has been ignoring since Lexa arrived at her doorstep. “What is this, anyway?”

“It’s just—” Lexa trails off as Clarke unwraps the package, holding her breath as Clarke lets out a small sound upon realizing what Lexa had just _done._

“ _Lexa,_ ” Clarke says, her voice hoarse. “How—you kept these?”

Lexa looks away and tries to conveniently ignore how Clarke seems to be on the verge of tears. “I thought maybe you’d want some of them back. Your new walls could use a view of the lake,” says Lexa. “How do you like the frames?”

“They’re lovely,” Clarke says, and when Lexa turns back to her, she sees Clarke running her fingers along the surface slowly. “Thank you.”

“They’re just—”

Clarke cuts that off with a sudden kiss upon Lexa’s cheek, and Lexa’s heart gets nearly dislodged by the gesture. Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa and pulls her in tight, burying her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck. “Call me when you get there?”

“I will,” says Lexa, clearing her throat. _We’re not about to cry, not about to cry._ “I really have to go.”

“Okay.” Clarke cradles her framed paintings close to her chest, leaning against the doorframe as she watches Lexa pick her bike off the lawn; waits until Lexa starts pedaling before going back in and closing the door.

*

Things change after New Year’s; Lexa feels it in her bones. Costia takes on additional classes, just as Lexa’s academic load gets a bit heavier. They still see each other at the end of the day, as often as they can manage, but some days Costia feels so far away that Lexa gets exhausted, just thinking about reaching out to her.

On days like that, Lexa calls Clarke instead. Eventually, it becomes a regular once-a-week check-in thing that Lexa justifies to be the both of them just working harder on their _us thing,_ as promised. After all, nothing wrong about calling your best friend regularly, right?

 _Absolutely nothing wrong, of course,_ Lexa assures herself as much. _Just a low-key love thing that we all feel for friends._

_Isn’t it?_

*

When it ends with Costia, it is almost summer. Costia comes to visit Lexa in her room and ends it herself. It all feels so surreal, despite the fact that Lexa’s seen this coming anyway – _it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere,_ is how Costia puts it, but then, Lexa knows better.

It ends with Costia because Costia deserves _better_ ; deserves more than just a girl who’d always be part-owned by somebody else. And Lexa knows she’s just being too kind by not saying it outright.

 _Will I ever be not fond of you?_ Lexa thinks as Costia kisses her goodbye.

“There will be better days,” Costia just says, before getting out.

Staring at the shut door, Lexa can’t decide which is more heartbreaking: That Costia doesn’t cry, or that they agree wholeheartedly not to beg each other for another shot.

*

It rains that first day of summer, but Lexa bikes out to Clarke’s anyway, bag of chips tucked under an arm. Clarke opens the door just as Lexa drops her bike on the lawn, calling out for Lexa to come in before it starts really pouring.

“Some summer this is,” says Lexa, tossing the slightly-rained-upon bag of chips on the table as Clarke comes back out of the bathroom with a towel, which she drapes upon Lexa’s shoulder.

“Climate change,” says Clarke, plopping down in front of the television and channel-surfing. “Dry yourself, Lex. You’ll get sick.”

Lexa lets out a small grunt, wiping at her brow as she sits beside Clarke. “What are you watching?”

“Whatever’s on, I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay.” Lexa settles into the couch a little more comfortably, and right on cue Clarke swings her legs over Lexa’s lap, and just like that, they’re young again and waiting out the rain.

Clarke says nothing as Lexa kneads her ankles absently. It’s the first afternoon that Costia doesn’t cross Lexa’s mind in so many days.

*

“Lex?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Lexa lifts her head slightly, pushing her sunglasses up. It’s mid-morning and they’re lying on the grass beside the Griffin pool, post-breakfast. “Go ahead,” she says, though the way Clarke sounds so cautious already tips Lexa off as to where this conversation might go.

“You haven’t mentioned Costia. At all.”

Lexa lets her head drop back to the ground with a sigh. “That’s not a question.”

“I was just wondering if you’re okay.”

Lexa closes her eyes, trying to think about how best to break this to Clarke without breaking herself. “We’re done,” she says, after a while. _No use sugarcoating it, eh._ “Before the term finished. It ended amicably.”

Lexa opens one eye cautiously, if only to catch Clarke’s immediate reaction. Clarke pushes up on her elbows, removing her sunglasses entirely to show Lexa her completely confused face. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“ _Lexa._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“Talk to me.” Clarke sits up fully, crossed-legged on the grass; Lexa tries to close her eyes and shut her out. _It’s a perfect sunny day; no use ruining it with a sob story._ “Get the fuck up, Lexa.”

Lexa does not budge and keeps her hands clasped on her stomach. “What’s your problem?” she asks, tone level.

Clarke lets out a small, frustrated sound. “Fine then, suit yourself. I’m going for a swim,” she says, getting up and walking toward the pool. Lexa tilts her head a little, if only to follow Clarke as she takes off her shirt and tosses it aside. Despite herself, Lexa pushes up on both elbows, a small smile on her face.

“How’s the water?” asks Lexa after watching Clarke swim a couple of laps.

Clarke rests her elbows upon the edge of the pool, wiping the droplets off her face as she looks up at Lexa. “Are we talking now?”

Lexa shrugs, slipping into the water beside Clarke. The water is warm from being under the sun, but Lexa shivers as their bare legs brush against each other underwater. “Maybe.” And then, “Seriously, Clarke. I don’t want to bore you with it.”

“ _Bore_ me?” asks Clarke, nudging Lexa with her hip. The water splashes between them and Lexa lets out a low laugh. “This is, like, our _first_ break-up story. This is what best friends are specifically made for.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, trying to disguise the thundering in her chest. _Best friends._ Lexa slips herself fully into the water before re-emerging, like the water’s going to clear her head better. “Costia didn’t think it was going anywhere,” she says, wiping the water off her eyes. “It was for the best.”

“But you guys were so _adorable_ together.”

“Not _helping_ , Clarke.”

“Sorry.” Clarke reaches over to thumb away a stray drop of water from Lexa’s chin. _Not helping either,_ Lexa almost says, looking away the instant their eyes meet. “How can I help?”

 _Let’s start by not touching me like that,_ Lexa thinks, breathing in and looking up. The sun is high now, perhaps already approaching noon. When she looks back at Clarke, she also has her face tipped upward, looking at the clouds.

“I mean. If you need my help,” Clarke adds.

“It’s just a broken heart; it’s not fatal,” Lexa says eventually.

“Actually, I read somewhere in the New York Times—”

“ _Clarke._ ” Under the water, Lexa feels Clarke reaching for her hand; she freezes for a moment before eventually relaxing into the hold. Clarke’s grip is warm; it feels like home. “I’ll be _fine._ ”

“And I’ll be here.”

*

Through the summer, they alternate between the pool and the lake.

Once, on the way home, Lexa’s bike skids through one of the corners and she scrapes her knee from a bad fall. Clarke laughs while dressing the wound, and Lexa scowls throughout, only to have her heart jolted when Clarke plants a kiss on top of the bandage as she whispers, “All fixed.”

Lexa’s knee stings all day, though she isn’t sure it’s just about the scrape.

*

“Clarke.”

“It’s three in the morning, Lexa.”

“I know.” Some nights are harder than others, and on those nights, Lexa reaches for her phone and dials Clarke’s number. “Sorry, it’s just--”

“I _know_ ,” Clarke whispers. Lexa imagines Clarke speaking softly in the dark, huddled under the sheets. “Was it another dream?”

“Yeah.” Some nights, Lexa dreams about Costia; on particularly worse ones, she swears she could almost feel the ghost of her, curved against her body. When she wakes, she finds herself alone in bed and _aching_ and _Christ,_ some nights she thinks about crawling back to her and begging, begging—

“You okay?” Clarke asks softly in the dark.

Lexa thinks about it. “No.”

“You want me to bike over?”

“It’s three in the morning, Clarke.”

“Three-ten, actually,” says Clarke. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, and Lexa wonders if she’s _actually_ getting out of bed. “I’m serious, Lexa.”

Lexa swallows hard, one hand smoothing the empty space beside her. _Is this purely about Costia?_ “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Hang on.” The line is cut before Lexa can say anything further, so she gets out of bed herself and tiptoes outside, opening the front door quietly. Lexa sits on their steps, tugging her jacket close as a chilly wind blows past. She stares at the bend in the road and waits for Clarke to emerge from it, her eyes adjusting in the dark.

Clarke takes an eternity, but she gets there anyhow, wearing a hoodie and track pants and Lexa feels herself breathe out in relief. She stands to meet Clarke, who rides up to the door and throws her arms around Lexa right after discarding her bike.

“You’re here,” Lexa murmurs into her hair.

“I’m here.”

*

That first morning-after, Lexa wakes first and finds Clarke pressed so closely against her, their limbs a tangled mess. They are fully clothed in Lexa’s bed, and Clarke is burrowed into her chest, an arm haphazardly thrown around Lexa’s waist, while Lexa’s hand is threaded through Clarke’s hair.

 _Calm down,_ Lexa tells herself, closing her eyes and trying not to be utterly overwhelmed by the smell of Clarke’s shampoo. _Or you’ll wake her up with the drumming inside your chest._

When Clarke starts shifting inside her arms, Lexa freezes and holds her breath. _Shit._ Clarke stretches languorously, like a cat, their bare legs touching under the sheets. Lexa tries not to shiver; tries not to think about Costia.

Clarke inhales, breathing Lexa in. _She’s waking up. Fuck._ “What time is it?” she mumbles against Lexa sleepily.

Lexa swallows. “Six-thirty,” she says, trying to disentangle herself slowly. “Clarke—”

The apology’s almost out but Clarke holds on tight and _pulls_. “No, stay,” says Clarke. “You’re warm.”

 _Warm. No kidding._ Lexa bites down on her lip as she feels herself relaxing back into Clarke. _Permission granted, right?_ “Okay then,” whispers Lexa.

“Go back to sleep.”

*

It’s not the last morning after. Clarke spends the night often, and wakes up huddled close to Lexa every time. After a while, it almost feels _ordinary_ , in that Lexa no longer has to hold her breath or overthink it; instead, Lexa holds on to the _wonder_ for as long as she could, waking up in the small hours with Clarke spooned around her, reveling in her warmth.

*

 _It’s not really a problem,_ Lexa tries telling herself once school starts up again and she is confronted with an empty bed. _Just a low-key craving._

Lexa registers that last word too late. _Fuck._ Of course, it’s a disaster.

The first few nights are a struggle, like there’s this _pulsing_ right under Lexa’s skin that she can’t quite get to, and on those nights she shifts restlessly in bed, looking for _something_ she can’t quite put her finger on.

“You sound exhausted,” says Clarke during their first phone call. “You all right?”

Lexa stares at her ceiling for a quiet moment, wondering if there’s a way she could phrase her current situation without alarming Clarke, now miles away. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she just says. “I suppose it’s just my body adjusting.”

Clarke sighs quietly on the other end of the line. “Mine, too.” Lexa closes her eyes at the sound of Clarke’s shuffling sheets; tries to ignore the heat steadily pooling in her gut. _Fuck, no._ “Guess the summer spoiled us.”

“Mhmm,” says Lexa, biting down hard on the tip of her tongue, fingers absently smoothing the waistband of her shorts, over and over, like any of this is about to soothe the tightening in her stomach. _When did this happen, exactly?_ Lexa wonders, slight panic creeping into her chest as the pulsing gets stronger than that muted hum she’s been used to all these years. 

_I should have seen this coming._

“Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

Lexa swallows hard, eyes closed. “Just—keep talking?”

There’s a long silence, and Lexa could hear her own heart thudding in her throat. _I’m going to fuck this up, fuck this up real fucking—_

“Okay,” Clarke says finally and just like that, it is eerily quiet in Lexa’s chest. Her heart stops, and Lexa gets a little dizzy. “You, too?” The rasp at the end of Clarke’s question is ruinous through and through, and Lexa digs her fingers into the sheets. She wonders when _exactly_ this happened – _I’ve been so careful, this was going to be nothing, and now--_

Lexa’s hands feel all too warm; fingertips too itchy. _Just a craving._ Lexa drops the whole _low-key_ pretense altogether, seeing that there is nothing low-key about how she’s touching herself to her best friend’s voice on the phone.

_Fuck._

*

(Clarke’s in the middle of a rather breathy narration of her Art Appreciation class when Lexa feels it – that characteristic slip-slide, that erratic jerk of her hips – “You all right?” Clarke asks, and _fuck,_ Lexa thinks, _she knows, she_  knows, _and still,_ “Can I keep going?”

Lexa tries to hold it, but her fingers are fucking _shaking,_ and there’s no swallowing the sounds she’s already making in the dark. “ _Clarke._ ” Lexa isn’t even sure if she manages to say her name out loud through gritted teeth. “I—I have to go.” She hangs up, ending the call as she comes, white-hot on her hand; dimly, she remembers her phone slipping from her grasp and landing on the floor with a dull thud.)

*

They don’t talk for weeks, and nothing does it for Lexa, not even the girl she casually sleeps with from Lit class every now and then.

*

“Have you been avoiding my calls?”

Lexa chews on her lip. She contemplates saying: _Maybe,_ but that would have only been true in the beginning, because things always had a way of getting in the way, conveniently. “We’re in the middle of midterms,” says Lexa, distractedly leafing through her textbook. “Besides, not like _you_ were any better at taking my calls.”

Clarke lets out a small laugh at the other end of the line. “Point taken,” she says. And then, sobering up a little: “So. We are… _okay_ here, right? And this is not—”

Lexa draws in a sharp breath at that. “Clarke,” she says curtly. “We’re in the middle of _midterms._ ”

“I _know_ ,” Clarke says. “Just. I can’t focus, okay, I keep thinking about—”

 _Jesus. Is Clarke really saying what I think she’s saying?_ Lexa lets her breath out in slow, shaky bursts. “ _Clarke._ ” And then, lowering her voice: “Please. I need—”

“ _What?_ ”

There’s that dull thrumming again, starting up slowly from the pit of her stomach. _Focus, Lexa._ She clears her throat and shuts her book briefly, if only to clear her head. “I need to _finish_ studying for my exam.”

“Oh,” says Clarke, and the disappointment in her tone flashes for a moment before Lexa’s eyes. “I should leave you to it then.”

“Sorry, Clarke,” says Lexa. “Maybe—some other time? I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” And then: “Good luck on your midterms.”

“You, too.”

Clarke hangs up first, and Lexa tries to keep her hands where she can see them.

*

Lexa tries not to think about term break, which is altogether strange, since that is usually how she survives the post-midterm chunk of school, but thinking about seeing _Clarke_ is doing things to her system that she’d rather _not_ think about yet, so.

It’s pretty fucked, actually, and Lexa knows as much.

So when the term’s finally over, it does hit Lexa with some kind of surprise. _What now?_ She considers the question as she files away her notes and readings and books. It’s only a couple of weeks long, but she thinks about Clarke and that return phone call she has yet to make, and her knees go weak.

 _I am so fucked. When did this happen?_ She holds her phone in one hand, taking a full minute to consider whether she should call Clarke now.

“Hello?”

“You’re horrible at promising to call people,” says Clarke.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll only forgive you if you’re coming home for the term break.”

“Well.” Lexa pauses for a bit to fuss with her stack of papers. “That’s a pretty attractive incentive.”

“And since when has hanging out with your best friend been not an attractive enough incentive?”

Lexa sighs, though she is thankful for the light tone of this conversation. “Fine,” she says. “Might as well make a little vacation of it.”

Clarke’s laugh at the other end of the line takes Lexa back to the lake, and somewhere deep inside, Lexa wonders if she could ever really, _simply_ go back to that.

*

It is chilly when she gets home. Clarke invites her to a post-dinner drink by their pool, and Lexa arrives in full gear – bicycle, hoodie, the works.

Clarke greets her at the door with a brief hug and an even briefer kiss on the cheek, and Lexa feels herself grow warm right away. _Trust Clarke to know exactly how to disarm upon sight._ “Cheers,” Clarke says, smiling as she hands Lexa a drink from the kitchen before leading her by the hand to the backyard.

They sit side-by-side on the pool edge, pants rolled up to their knees, legs dipped into the water, surprisingly warm. Lexa looks up, watching the cloudy night sky. “No stars tonight,” she muses, taking a sip from her beer.

“Takes a while lately,” says Clarke. “How was your trip?”

“Ass-numbing,” Lexa says lightly, catching Clarke’s eye. Clarke smiles, nudging Lexa’s foot with hers under the water. _Easy,_ Lexa tells herself. “Yours?”

“Quick and painless. Asleep for most of it,” Clarke says and Lexa groans. How are some people able to sleep on buses, anyway?

“You’re clearly talented,” Lexa says, offering her beer for a toast. “Here’s to the next twelve days.” Clarke clinks her bottle against hers with a soft, “Indeed.”

They stay quiet like that – Lexa has missed the gentle comfort of Clarke’s silences, and she tries her best to hold on for as long as Clarke lets her.

“So,” Clarke says, after a while. “What are your plans?”

Lexa looks up, eyes twinkling as the clouds begin parting. _Stars, finally._ She takes a longer sip from her beer before answering. “I’m not sure,” she says. “I came back for you.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Clarke replies.

*

When it starts raining, sometime close to midnight, they practically trip all over themselves as they clumsily make their way back into the house. Lexa lets out a small drunken yelp as she stubs her toe against the edge of the couch, spilling a bit of her drink onto the carpet.

“Shit,” Lexa mutters, sinking right beside Clarke, who only giggles back just as drunkenly. “Sorry. Your carpet.”

“Fuck the carpet,” Clarke slurs.

“Language, miss.”

“Shit,” Clarke claps a hand upon her mouth. “Sorry. _Shit_. There it goes again.”

Lexa laughs. “Are you—no, you _are_ drunk,” she says. Sure, it takes her a while to get her eyes to _focus_ on Clarke, but she is _definitely_ not yet drunk – or, at least, not as drunk as Clarke is, if they were to judge solely by the things Clarke has been saying about Finn just before the rain started pouring.

 _Finn._ Every time she remembers the name, Lexa sobers up just a little bit more. “Anyway – I was saying,” Clarke says, waving her thankfully empty can of beer around. “ _Finn._ ”

“Yeah, you were saying—you _said,_ you were on a break. Whatever that means.”

“That means exactly what I think it does,” says Clarke, leaning back against the opposite edge of the couch. “And I think.” Clarke trails off at that, fixing her gaze in the mid-distance, her eyes glazing over.

“Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke shakes her head like she’s waking up from a brief daydream, and Lexa laughs. _Is anything more adorable than a drunk Clarke on vacation?_ “Oh. Right. So Finn and I are taking a break. No big.”

“ _Yes_ big,” Lexa insists, reaching for Clarke’s legs and placing them on her lap. Clarke lets out a sigh of relief as Lexa begins massaging lightly at her heel with one hand. “Seriously, though. I may not look like I enjoy your Finn stories, but I do take comfort in the fact that there’s always _someone_.”

 _Even if that someone is Finn, not me._ Lexa keeps kneading at Clarke’s ankle as she tries to push that thought away.

“There _is_ always someone,” Clarke says, after a while. Lexa tries to ignore how Clarke’s voice quiets down as she says it; how Clarke sounds _incredibly_ sober, even. Lexa’s gut starts that uncomfortable churning again; like she’s waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. “Are you even paying attention?”

“What do you think?” _I’ve been here since we were fifteen._

Clarke sits up, drawing herself closer to Lexa – so close that she’s practically straddling her. Outside, rain begins pouring harder; the sound of the water against the roof drowning out the muffled pounding of Lexa’s heart inside her chest. Lexa looks at her in the low light of the living room, wide-eyed and confused. In the dark, Clarke’s eyes are bright and curious.

“Sometimes, I think you’re fucking blind,” Clarke says, leaning close. Lexa is stunned – _Just how much have we had to drink, really? Are we even drunk enough for this? –_ so she just lets Clarke close the gap between them with a kiss. She presses the first one chastely against the corner of Lexa’s mouth, before pulling away briefly and leaning back in, kissing her full on the mouth a second time, all purpose and promise.

Sitting there pinned under Clarke against the back of the couch, Lexa remembers all their days together -- all those bright-lit afternoons they spent at the lake and those rainy ones they spent on this very couch; all the midnights she spent waiting for Clarke on their front porch; the mornings she spent waking up to Clarke’s arms around her.

The memories come rushing to the fore, like an angry tide, and after a while, Lexa remembers to actually kiss back, licking at Clarke’s bottom lip and running her hand under Clarke’s shirt.

Clarke breaks away first to catch her breath. “ _Fuck._ ”

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, and Lexa keeps her eyes open long enough to see the look on Clarke’s face: Hopeful and _severely_ turned-on. Lexa finds herself smirking, wondering if Clarke sees the same thing.  Her breathing is still shallow as she presses her forehead against Lexa’s.

“Language, miss,” Lexa just says, leaning in for another kiss.

*

“Are you dating anyone?”

Lexa turns to her side, letting the sheets fall from her shoulder. The rain has stopped, and Lexa stares at the shadows the droplets on the window are making on Clarke’s skin. “Why are you asking?” she asks, rubbing at the bare skin of Clarke’s hip absently.

“Just curious.”

Lexa raises her brow at that. _Curious?_ “Well. Not counting the girl from lit class that I was on-and-off sleeping with—”

“ _Lexa._ ”

“What?”

“What do you mean, _what?_ So Costia left you broken-hearted. _Now_ you’re breaking hearts of random Lit classmates?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. She’s not some _random_ Lit classmate. Besides, we made it clear it was just… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“She said she didn’t want to date,” says Lexa. “I said I just needed to take the edge off—”

“ _Who_ are you even?” Clarke says, swatting Lexa’s arm. Lexa laughs lightly, tucking Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “No, seriously, Lex. Are you seeing anyone?”

Lexa smiles. “Well, there’s this girl—”

“She _better_ not be in this Lit class—”

“She’s not,” Lexa says. “In fact, we go to different unis—”

“Oh, long distance? That’s going to be a bitch,” Clarke says, casually draping her leg around Lexa’s hip and Lexa feels herself gasping at the heat she finds there. “However will you manage?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa singsongs, letting her fingers graze the inside of Clarke’s thigh. She trembles around her, and Lexa’s laugh rumbles low in her throat. “There’s always the phone.”

“Interesting,” Clarke says. “Phone calls, or—”

“Phone calls, definitely.” It’s out so instantaneously that Lexa barely has time to process what she’d just said, and when she realizes as much, she feels a deep blush crawl up her neck.

Clarke narrows her eyes at her. “Real talk: That time on the phone—”

“You _kept_ talking,” Lexa says, the last word but a whine as Clarke shifts her leg to press her thigh against her, rolling her hips. “I mean—have you _heard_ yourself?”

“Ah, so that was what it was,” says Clarke, amused. And then, lowering her voice: “ _Can I keep going?_ ”

“ _Fuck._ ” Lexa momentarily loses her rhythm, sliding against Clarke erratically, the friction there equal parts shocking and sweet.

“ _Language,_ miss,” Clarke says, a light laugh toward the end. She braces her hands around Lexa’s waist and _grips,_ setting her still _._ “Jesus. What took you so long, Lex?”

Lexa bites down on her lip, trying to look at Clarke through the haze in her brain. _What took_ you _so long?_ “I could ask you the same thing,” she just says, putting her hands over Clarke’s and squeezing.

*

On the day before their vacation ends, they take a brief trip to the lake.

“Old times’ sake,” Clarke just says, crawling over to Lexa and kissing her on the lakeshore.

They kiss under the sun, and over the earth, and in the water, until their lips are sore and they’re shivering in the cold, and in the end, Lexa just says, “You have no idea how long I have waited to do that.”

#

 


End file.
